


Sins Best Kept Secret

by StormyLoveBug



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M, My First Fanfic, Priest Matt, Slow Build, priesthood AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:50:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormyLoveBug/pseuds/StormyLoveBug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's a hot priest. Well, he's not a priest yet. But he's still hot. And he's still a Devil. And there's something out there waiting on a trigger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing Happened

Matthew pulls at his collar like a dog pulls at his leash.

The day was almost done, his innate sense of timing said so. The church doors would be closed and Father Lantom and himself would finish their duties in a comfortable silence. He would return to his plain room in the parish, study the Priesthood briefly, pray to God, climb into bed, and listen until his immediate world was quiet with the sound of sleep.

But it was what came after that had the Deacon's heart racing now. He was not a rich man, he was not paid well as per the Catholic Church's ways. But with all the lives he has touched... The minor donations and favors paid him farther than anyone knew. He had procured a small sum of $376 over the years (his Catholic guilt had prevented excess from the more generous souls) and after helping a man through a difficult time in his life, granted a very special favor.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how everything had escalated so quickly. Matthew remembered the first night so clearly, he had assumed that God had seared it into his mind's eye as one more reminder. Restless with sleep, the blind man decided the best course of action was to take a walk and inhale sweet, sweet, Hell's Kitchen air. He dressed quickly in the few civilian clothes he had, a simple all black ensemble that he was later very grateful for. Wandering the block, trying to keep his senses to himself, a scream had broken through his wall of defenses and froze him.

Matthew still trained, in secret, but had never put his skills to action since Stick's devastating withdrawal.

He still felt the urge. Heard the whispers at the back of his mind.

_Be careful of the Murdock boys. They got the Devil in them._

His fists clenched and he heard the desperation ring out in his skull, he pinpointed the sound exactly three blocks away to his left, four stories up. He clenched harder, searching through his memories like a flip book, begging to find a reason, whether or not it was to head back or move forward he'll never be sure of.

Then, a gasping whimper of a child and he didn't need to think anymore.

After he had settled into his bed, the hasty scuffs along his knuckles ached with retribution. He relived his grip on the fire escape, the scent of blood breaking under his own force, and the sound of quiet breathing-  _safe_ breathing. He had left with the man through the fire escape and dragged him as inconspicuously as he could to the police station, minding his face now. A blind minister would do no good dragging a bloodied man from the shadows.

But he was getting off track. It was definitely night as he laid in his bed, waiting for the cue of even breathing. When that personal alarm went off, he was already shoving on the horns that suited him better than a collar ever did. That favor had done him well and he prayed to the Lord every night to protect and help Melvin Potter and his blessed hands, and again when he returned to his bed every morning.

And morning it was. He slept little after last nights activities, but he woke refreshed and damaged nonetheless. _The Devil of Hell's Kitchen rises again_ , he thought to himself, grinning slightly as he popped his neck, stretching through leftover pain. As Matthew finished readying himself for another day of due confessions and what he hoped was the best possible guidance he could give, something prickled through his skin.

Something was going to happen today. The blind man was nudged in his own mind suddenly. It was a peculiar feeling that lasted a few seconds and he wasn't sure if it had actually happened or if he was still groggy. Even when he didn't feel groggy at all. No, no, he must've been hit one too many times in the head last night. Matthew gently touched his own face, maneuvering around his squared, Church prescribed shades. He felt nothing. He had not been hit in the face, then. Fingers dug around his skull, searching for any sign of irregularity. Nothing.

There was no way, the skin shiver, the mind feeling, there was absolutely no way that they happened or were related, but relating would mean they happened, and they did in fact not happen at all one after the other. No. What happened? Not a thing.

Matthew steeled himself and heard a nameless clergyman approach his door and knock, calling out to retrieve him.

"Yes, I'm ready."

He was taken to the office of Father Lantom, a small meeting was had with any present church volunteers and the clergy, and the day was moved on. Morning mass was had, Matthew had various small jobs to do. He was usually sent to confession duty for the better part of the day, as paperwork and large or delicate cleaning projects were deemed fairly difficult. Father Lantom had always had an undertone of amusement whenever they spoke about it. But, he did study, as much as he could with the limited Braille books or recording they had. Whenever he wasn't really, really on duty- the day shift or the night one. The hours continued to march along as he helped people, confessions or not. He couldn't shake the feeling though, that brief moment in the morning. Something was waiting, and he was filled with anticipation and a small edge of fear while he counted the minutes into darkness.

The day proved uneventful.

Nothing happened after all.


	2. Holy Light

It was always night to Matthew.

He wasn't referring to his world on fire, no, not his blindness. Even as the sun hit his face he could feel the night creeping at his edges, right out of reach. As he understood it, dawn's morning rays would never shine bright enough or stay long enough to erase the heavy sundown inside of himself. It had occurred to him, that maybe that's why he felt the way he did when he clocked onto his night shift. Midnight was his home regardless how much he basked in sunbeams.

Blind eyes opened after another long night and a short sleep. Today was Friday. It had been a full business week since the.... Incident (That Didn't Happen). Matthew had actually waited several minutes combing his hair Tuesday morning to see if it repeated it's non-existent self.  
It didn't.  
He tried again on Wednesday. And Thursday. And now, as he patiently combed his hair, he waited. His eyes looked ahead, unseeing of course, but straying around in front of him. Matthew blinked and sighed. Nothing. Not like anything happened to begin with, he hastily noted.

Clearing his throat, Matthew continued his morning routine like he wasn't slightly agitated at the mystery and made common pleasantries with the regulars. Inhaling, Matthew caught the scent of something strong sitting itself seven pews down on the left. This was a newcomer with no name as of yet. Not enough courage, Matthew had assumed, to make contact with anyone, but the scent had stuck out since... Monday, he recalled. It was an easy scent, not too potent for his sensitive nose and very clean. He respected the man that sat there without much thought because of that. Morning mass, minor studying, before finally Matthew was re-directed to the confessional booth. There was something about it he relished in. You don't need to see to understand. He had a few minutes to himself to clear his head and prepare for a complete focus shutdown.

The newcomer approached confidently to the other side of the booth's door. But, it hesitated, and Matthew could hear a sort of huff rush out, smelling like kid's toothpaste. He grinned subconsciously and raised his eyebrows expectantly behind the door and veiled wall between them.

Newcomer wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis and turned around to walk away just as confidently as he had approached. He did directly hit the bench, unfortunately, and that may have ruined his exit a little, but it caused Matthew to laugh quietly to himself.

It was a good moment between them, even if only one party knew about it.

When night came again as it inevitably would, Matthew stood on top of his church, listening. There were some nights he actually had to prioritize the crime he heard. Some nights... Something urgent wasn't urgent enough. So far tonight was one of those nights.

Daredevil leapt into action, efficient and sleek under the probing fingers of city light that barely had a touch to his figure. He dropped quietly into an alleyway and disturbed a drug addict's claim on a two person family, rushing between the swishes of a large knife. His friends didn't make it easy, lunging forward at him one at a time, but they also didn't make it too hard either. The Devil itched at blood moving underneath his suit, but guided the family back into safety. A moment later he was off again, and it continued as such for the next four hours without pause.

Until he did pause. Running ragged on an opportune fire escape when a calm opportune knife swung out and caught on the very opportune shoulder plate of his suit. The blade did not stop before it made repeated purchase in his more susceptible openings. The surprise of it all had him gasping backwards, trying to raise his arms to block as he could not dodge, and soon he felt the release in gravity and he was falling. He fell, mostly in a dumpster. Again. Only this time he wasn't so sure if he could rise up before the assailant caught up with him.

"Jesus, what is that sme- oh, seven hells."

Matthew coughed blood as a response back.

"Oh, oh okay, now? Now. Yes, right, let's... Deal, we can do this, buddy."

Iron permeated the air, blood was in all of his senses, all he could feel and hear, his life oozing out of him like a jelly filled doughnut. He didn't like the jelly ones.

"That's good to know, I'll keep that in mind if we get coffee."

He felt something cautiously rustle around him and then hurriedly pulling trash off of him. Why, again? Wasn't this where he belonged? A true sign from God, really.

"Wow, you are just delightful, aren't you? Then again..."

Hands grabbed him with solidarity.

And they burned, Matthew swore they burned like fire. The Devil gasped out in the night sky as his eyes saw holy fire wrapped around him. Oh my God, did that fire burn him. It burned so brightly, he couldn't feel the edges of the night anymore.

"Hey, it'll be over in a second."

His body stretched out and over and stood, if that's what anyone would call that, on shaky limbs.

"Where should I... Take you, Devil?"

He hobbled next to this stranger, something screaming at him from behind the holy fire that still burned.

"Six blocks west, two north."

"You couldn't go to just anywhere, could you. It had to be specific. And far away. How am I supposed to do this again? We can't exactly take a cab."

Matthew rested against the brick wall, straining against the fading feeling of fire and felt a long coat shrug onto his shoulders. After that, what felt like a large gardening hat.

"Let's thank the people of Hell's Kitchen for their lovely donations to the dump, yes? Grab a hold of my arm, Devil."

They somehow managed to "covertly" make their way six blocks west and two blocks north. Honestly, Matthew was only really there for maybe half of it. He had no idea how he was so lucky after being so unlucky. But, they did make it back home.

"A...  Church? Devil's can't enter a church, dude. Let _alone_ a Catholic one."

There was a slight bump of shoulders and a quick laugh.

"Sorry, was that too soon? Should we actually go in? Can I drop you off here on the front step like an orphaned baby? Wait, seriously, are you with me here? Are you dying? Should I have just taken you to a hospital?"

Matthew was set up on the top step.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Is that a dismissal now? After all we've been through, I thought we had something special."

His ears perked up, he listened to the tone of desperation that rung in the man's voice.  _He smells clean, minus the taint of iron_ , Matthew realized. It was the Newcomer.

After the awkward steps of the Newcomer walking away were far enough for him to return safely to his simple room, Matthew did exactly that. The coat was the strangers personal artifact. And it smelled delicious.

Something happened after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I'm making a bigger deal of blindness for a man that is fully functional. I don't want to make him a baby lol. Also, I clearly abuse commas. TW if commas were my wife... anyways.


	3. Attempts at Catholicism

Burning flesh. Screaming. His heart felt like it was exploding. Chaos was everywhere. But through the veil of madness Matthew felt a tentative touch through his mind, hesitant but somehow calming.

Snapping his eyes open with a gasping breath, the cool touch still lingering within his psyche. He laid in bed waking haphazardly and very confused.

 _What was happening to_ _him?_

Matthew was still a little shaken as he sat through morning mass, the combined efforts of stitching himself back up last night after the already rough nightly activities and the dream. His heart sped up at the thought of the dream, it had felt so real. He mulled over his thoughts, his face carefully neutral to the outside world. The dream in itself was... Worrisome. But the part that was really bothering him was the cursed psychic magic thing that kept probing him. Matthew of all people understood what vulnerability really felt like, but this was a completely different layer of fear. His hands clenched his cane in a white knuckle grip.

 _Was it his faith?_  He practiced daily, praying and asking forgiveness, but as if that could ever be enough to wash away his sins. _Was his mission for the greater good of Hell's Kitchen just the good intention paving his way to Hell?_   His eyes flickered unseeing to the ground. _Was what he was doing... Doing anything at all?_  Matthew stood up for a hymns, singing along quietly in one of the farther pews. He returned his ears to the seventh pew on the left. A soft, clear voice sang out. Matthew had been listening to him carefully, for a sign of anything at all. There was nothing, which was a fact half relieving and half... Something else. Matthew shook his head, imagining Christ's presence to focus himself.

He didn't have time to get distracted by clean smelling anyone, not with his whole life on a precipice.

As mass ended and churchgoers filtered in and out of the pews, Matthew tapped his cane up to the front, speaking quietly with passerby's until he met with Father Lantom and was given a quick reminder of his schedule. He was sent to confession, a pleased smile gracing his face as he did so.

A lot of the confessions he listened to were pretty simple. Masturbation, being excessive in drugs or alcohol, gossiping or making fun of others, and of course, missing church. He nodded along with their words, probing when he heard their heart deceive. Matthew had noticed a pattern in some of his "clients". They were unwilling to speak the whole truth- out of embarrassment, he assumed- but with the correct application of... Force, they understood that he could hear right through the lies. It seemed to encourage regular confession and he was happy to help reconcile their relationship with the Lord.

He offered instructions to a younger troubled woman that was very unwilling to tell him much. He suspected she was involved indirectly in some sort of organized crime scheme... But, he couldn't make her tell him the truth and she was a mostly regular. The waiting game it was. He listened to her thanks and her movement leave that side of the booth, distracted by his own suspicions, so much so that he almost missed the clean linen scent walk in front of the booth. It paced, actually, around in a circle a little past the bench Newcomer had previously knocked into, a reminder Matthew chuckled at gladly.

Turning his head to listen better, Matthew caught an above average heartbeat and nervous twisting hands.

"Now or never, right? How do I even do this?" Newcomer's voice laughed to himself and he could hear his hand shake through his shoulder length hair, releasing a whiff of his shampoo. Matthew subconsciously swallowed. Newcomer cleared his throat and approached the door to the booth. He was wound up, that's for sure. Matthew's smile made no move to fade as he heard the strangers hand grip the handle.

"Hello, Father, for I have sinned?"

The Newcomer sounded a little stiff as he awkwardly settled into the booth. His hands had come right back together to nervously twist after shutting the door behind him. His scent was almost suffocating in the sudden close quarters, Matthew had to focus for a few moments on breathing and getting past it.

The Holy man cleared his throat and said, "Hello, my child. Now, was that a question... Or a statement?"

The other man's heart upped again and he just sighed.

"Okay, look, I... Am not... Religious? What I'm trying to say is this is my first confession, like ever. Because... I'm not a Catholic." He tensed up clearly uncomfortable.

"Alright. That's a good start to a confession." Matthew smiled and tried to keep his tone as inviting as possible, as not to scare him away. "You don't have to be Catholic to come see me. Rectifying your sins here and you will rectify with the Lord."

Oddly, the stranger gave a snort of laughter, causing the deacon to raise his eyebrows in surprise. One does not seek confession for pleasure, he seeks for help.

"I'm sorry, can I just... Do I just tell you stuff? Can I talk to you? Is that how this is done, because if not, I don't have to bother you anymore, Father," the stranger spoke, jittery in his seat, eager to leave after so much effort to get him in the seat in the first place. Interesting.

"No, no, go ahead, child," he nodded him forward in the dark.

"I... I don't know if I did the right thing. I helped someone, but," Matthew's smile disappeared as the other man trudged along a clearly difficult line of thought.

"I don't know if I helped the _right_   person. I brought him where he wanted to go, and weirdly, I thought we connected or something stupid. The worst part of it is that I don't know if I should do something about what I know about this... Person. He has mixed reviews, you know?"

Matthew was still in his seat, except the small circles he traced with his right thumb along some stitches aching in his left ribs. He listened carefully to the Newcomers heart, but it's erratic behavior didn't point to lies.

"I don't know what I'm doing, okay? But! Something about your voice I guess, it... I trust you."

His heart beat truthfully. It hit something inside of Matthew, something that hadn't been touched before. Waves were created but they were dangerous waves, waves that planned to drown him.

He prayed silently, eyes unseeing at the ceiling of the booth.

"Well, for a 'not Catholic' that's a very good sign." Matthew cleared his throat again and inhaled the curls of clean linens in the air.

"Yeah, you think so? I know I'm not being very clear here, but, I really don't know about somethings that happened, and while I would look to you for advice, I don't even know if I could handle it right now. This has been enough for me, at least for right now, so let me do a Catholic thing to honor you and your service to me. Uh, I sinned recently, a lot actually, but the second thing that comes to mind is keeping secrets from someone very important to me. Or someone that will be very important to me."

His voice changed suddenly in the last sentence, from relatively lighthearted for a difficult conversation to rougher, darker tone more suited to someone else. Even if Matthew knew next to nothing about this man, he knew the voice didn't match right. It gave him a sudden chill, a little alarm ringing in his ears.

"Is there a remedy for that, Father? I don't like lying but I guess I just haven't given much hint to it in the first place. But that's lying by omittance. Still counts," he laughed, the tone vanishing right before Matthew's ears.

The Deacon rambled off an appropriate penance, making an agreeable noise to the Newcomers thoughts.

"Thanks, again, Father. Can I come back and see you? One Priest is enough, I don't need to cheat on you," he laughed a little louder this time, his question hanging in the air.

"Technically, I'm not quite a Priest. But yes, of course you can. I am Deacon Murdock. Matthew Murdock." His insides squirmed and his heart squished upon itself in his rib cage.

"Matthew Murdock, I got it. I'll... Attempt this again another time. Thanks. Again, again, okay I'm getting outta this box."

The rush of cooler church air entered the intimate space and the Newcomer was gone, the only trace left was the scent of clean soap. Matthew pushed on a painful set of stitches to clear his mind quickly.

 

_Focus, Murdock. This new thing that's going on with you, you need to stop it and remember what path you chose. Remember that you have the Devil in you. Remember it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a head's up, I'm not religious so I'm not sure if I'm pinning Catholicism correctly. Catholics are hard, okay? I'm trying to make it realistic, so I don't mind if you skip the application of internet knowledge haha. I'm having a considerable amount of fun writing this, I hope those reading it like where it might be headed.


	4. Special

He wasn't special. He shouldn't _be_ special. He isn't the first newcomer and he certainly won't be the last.

But... And it agitated Matt to admit to it, he just was. A lot of Newcomers came and go, using God as a phase to pass through their life. He tried not to pay attention to them, until a certain point in time where they had established a position within the community.

This one though, he moved fast with the regulars, cinching in their opinions of him quickly. And yet, he was separated. He wasn't "one of them", he just had everyone's shining review. Matthew didn't need to talk to people to know what they were saying. And over the short week the stranger had been here Matthew hadn't heard a single bad comment. A lot of church folk, especially the older ones, were a little on the suspicious/ostracizing side. It's Hell's Kitchen, what can you expect?

Matthew could hear him now, speaking with a very reliable older woman that loved to volunteer. He wasn't sure how they started to speak but it was if this man had a cheat sheet on exactly what to say, because they started talking about gardening. Adelaide, the heavily opinionated volunteer, was revered for her gardening techniques but very rarely spoke of her prized possessions. The stranger- Matthew had missed the introductions, again- spoke about flowers Matthew had never heard about, specifically a _"Habenaria Grandifloriformis"_ , and how beautiful they were, caring tips and tricks, other things a blind vigilante didn't care about. Matthew doubted very much that widowed Adelaide would have something negative to say about the newest member in the pews after such a passionate conversation about plants.

Three days went by without any direct contact with the Newcomer but he did catch his scent on the wind during his night shift Sunday night and he did very much want to follow the trail. Unfortunately, that opened a door in his mind and Matthew was a firm believer in leaving most of his inner doors untouched.

It was a pleasant Tuesday afternoon, there was a small lull in the church, Tuesday's weren't the most popular of Holy days. Matthew was simply dusting along the windows, doing his "best" which was very satisfactory. He hadn't expected clean linens to suddenly ensnare his senses at such a close proximity, a voice not three feet from his person.

"Excuse me, do you mind explaining a quick passage for me? Interpretation has only been my strong point with a little more structure to pull from."

Matthew swallowed and turned his head to listen better.

"Would you like to read it to me?" Matthew thought he sounded like he was... Well, a lot of things, but mostly that he was not the welcoming Priest he desired to sound like. Too low, too much pre-Holy path Matthew.

"Uh, why would I- Oh, shit, you're blind."

Strangely, he didn't sound all that surprised. Like he was faking it. And also relieved? If the little sigh afterwords was anything to go by, that is.

"Cursing in a church isn't well looked upon, and especially to a blind patron of said church, " Matthew grinned as he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"... Well, now I know I'm going to Hell, don't I?" He slapped a hand onto Matthew's shoulder and squeezed in good humor.

It burned. His touch had seared right through the robes Matthew wore straight to his pain censors. A startled gasp escaped his throat and he ripped his arm away, searching seemed futile but he did it anyways. The duster dropped, forgotten immediately.

"Woah, buddy, you okay?" His hands came towards him again before snapping backwards. They started to wave around frantically, almost comically, if Matthew wasn't currently preoccupied he would've been laughing.

'"I didn't mean to scare you, I swear, I'll be more conscious of any sudden ambushes, it's literally the least I could do?"

Running his hand through his hair, Matthew laughed awkwardly feeling nothing but the silky robes encircling him as he tried to calm his heartbeat.

"No, no, you're fine, I apologize. I, I'm Deacon Matthew Murdock. May I ask your name?" Matthew self-consciously rubbed at his arm, attempting to look somewhere at his face. This... Person? Matthew was starting to doubt the nature of the man before him, almost as much as he was doubting himself.

Frazzled or not, Matthew was still a very smart man, and extracting a name from the stranger was finally within his grasp. There was no way he was going to let this opportunity pass him by, not after all these questions that kept popping up.

"Hey! Deacon Murdock! We've spoken before, actually, and yeah definitely ask away. Oh, well I guess you did, you can call me Foggy," he shifted suggesting he felt a little disheveled at the strong reaction to touch. Matthew nodded in understanding, but couldn't help himself.

"Foggy?" Foggy's heart rate bumped up a little, "I sense an alias, unless your parents were very creative." He smiled trying to channel that easy-going reputation that preceded him. It was a little difficult. Matthew straightened in an effort to control himself.

"Oh, no it's a nickname. Always said it fit me better than the real thing," Foggy shrugged to himself and poor Matthew, he could feel the sun within his smile.

He was obviously not within a clear mind.

"But yes, the passage, you asked for some clarification? There are not many Braille bibles lying around, so, if you don't mind...?" Matthew raised a hand to gesture noncommittally to his ears.

"Yes! Er, yes, I can do that," Foggy seemed to announce to half the church.

"I'm am.... _Really_ getting into bible study." A very clear lie spilled from Foggy's lips paired with what felt like a large wince.

"Anyways, anyways, let's sit, the pew is here a step to your left." He reached out to lightly guide Matthew, tugging lightly on his sleeve. Either he was covering up the burning or being sensitive to what he assumed was Matthew's abhorrence for touch. It was unclear and while it made Matthew very distrustful, it also ignited a fire. A challenge Matthew would unravel and discover every nook and cranny of.

Matthew shifted uncomfortably in his seat and felt Christ's ever watchful eye from all around the church.

He subconsciously tugged at his collar and heard Foggy's voice falter for just a moment. Maybe it wasn't just the Son of God watching his every move. He tried to focus on the passage, but he may have lost track briefly, Foggy's voice was nice to listen to. The minor explanation that would have followed was interrupted by a very insistent church volunteer begging for Foggy's undivided attention for a bake sale.

The day ended with small shards of resentment towards the young volunteer embedded in Matthews skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me awhile for this one to formulate correctly. Ideas were happening but nothing wanted to be put together. Rude chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. No beta, just throwing this out into the world. Felt it weighing in me for a little bit. Let's see where it goes yeeeeeeeahhhhhhhhh  
> Also, I don't have a schedule or anything, a word count to keep up. I just write what wants to be written.  
> Feedback is welcome, I'm new and shit.


End file.
